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[theonewhocounted]

The Bright Spot Meme


(Was there every a more suitable meme for dear Molly?)

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[theonewhocounted]

She sighs into his mouth. It's incredible to have her own feelings mirrored to her in the way he returns her kiss. And she doubts it needs to be said, but she's compelled to anyway.

"I love you," she breathes against his lips like a prayer.

[punchmeitssubtext]

He inhales those words, takes them deep into his lungs to fill his blood with oxygen, lighting up something in him he'd once thought too long dead to function.

And he breathes those same words back into her--"I love you," quiet and faintly surprised at how true it's been every time he's said it.

[theonewhocounted]

Her lips quirk against his mouth because those words will never fail to make her happy. She gives him a final kiss before she rolls off of him and he slips out of her. Thankfully the condom is still in tact even though he is softening. She's on birth control anyway, but best not to chance these things. She removes the condom from him and ties it off before throwing it into the trash bin next to her bed. She's back at his side a moment later. He looks like he's still recovering and she wonders if he's off in his mind palace somewhere.

[punchmeitssubtext]

The second she's next to him again he rolls to curl around her, fitting her body close against his. Everything that's just happened is now in storage, so to speak, to be analyzed and processed later. Right now he simply needs her here with him, to keep him anchored while he's at the mercy of emotions he's kept bottled up for years.

[theonewhocounted]

She's there and not going anywhere. She feels his need to keep her close and it's certainly what she wants too. Her chest is aching with her love for him and it hits her then that as close as they are now and as close as they were only minutes ago, it still somehow doesn't feel close enough. She wants to crawl inside his skin n a very un-creepy sort of way. Instead, she reaches down to bring her duvet up over them.

[punchmeitssubtext]

A similar thought, wordless and warm, is floating through his own mind. He wishes he could actually bring her into his mind palace, throw open doors and show her the things he's seen and learned over the years and had no one to share with. He wants to show her the extraordinary things that he's witnessed or wanted to try or imagined.

When she tugs at the duvet, he bends a little with her, just to pluck at the fabric and help her tug it up over them. His heart is still beating quickly, but between the afterglow and this intense emotional thing that's happening between them that speed isn't driven by fear.

[theonewhocounted]

"Oh...I'm still in my stockings," she says then, realizing it's probably not good (or comfortable) for her to have them on all night. "Hold on."

She push the duvet down again and sits up to roll them down her legs.

[punchmeitssubtext]

He watches her, a faint smile on his face.

"They were a good choice," he points out, the faintest edge of a laugh warming his tone. Sherlock does mean it, too--thanks to tonight, he's got what might be called a fondness for Molly in stockings.

[theonewhocounted]

She smiles and looks over her shoulder at him as she rolls the other stocking down.

"Yeah?" she asks. "I'm glad you liked them."

Sherlock is different than most men she's been with. Other men she at least has an idea of the sorts of things they'll react favourably to - sexy lingerie, a somewhat lowcut top or dress, a darker shade of lipstick, high heels. Of course, each is different, but she has a baseline to start from. Sherlock has spent most of his life either ignoring or seeming completely unfazed by those sort of things. She couldn't really expect he'd react the same. Although, so far he's proved not all that different from most men.

Once both are off, she pulls the duvet up again and rests on her side looking at him, a small smile on her lips.

[punchmeitssubtext]

He doesn't let her go far. One arm curls around her--he needs to touch her, to feel the afterglow of her orgasm thrumming in her skin in time with his own.

She keeps surprising him, over and over. And he knows she's not going to stop, that he's going to end up discovering more than he'd thought possible about sex and about what he himself really likes. The prospect of diving into all that messy stuff has always been a bit daunting, but that's because he faced it alone--or, in one case, was offered a chance with someone he didn't and couldn't trust.

He begins to trace the Greek alphabet, letter by letter, against her bare shoulderblade with a fingertip. Not to tease her, just because he can, because he's present in the moment and likes the feel of her warm skin.

(And speaking of surprises, though neither of them will know it for hours yet, Molly's coworker has the night shift tonight. During her "lunch" break, in the wee hours, she decides to check Tatler, like she always does.

To: Molly
From: Sophie (Work)

3:17 AM: CAMERA_0108.JPG

The photo is a screenshot from the Tatler website. Which has a picture of Sherlock and Molly holding hands in the foyer of the Royal Opera House. No one was quick enough to get a picture of them kissing later in the evening, but someone clearly had the opportunity to grab this shot before the show.

3:17 AM: MOLLY

3:17 AM: YOUR NEW BLOKE IS SHERLOCK????)

[theonewhocounted]

Molly happily fits her body in next to his and sighs contentedly as his hand traces patterns on her skin. She wants to say so many things to him, wants to hear what he thought about his first time, wants to tell him how he makes her feel, wants to thank him for the evening, for trusting her with this. But the warmth of his body, the beat of his heart, and the feel of his hand on her lulls her quickly and soon she is drifting off to sleep. There will be time for talking in the morning.

Molly's mobile is tucked in her clutch still which is somewhere in her flat between the entryway and her bedroom. She won't discover it again until she gets up the next day.

[punchmeitssubtext]

Her slowing breathing and the warm contentment she's practically radiating, combined with the pleasant exhaustion of sex, act on him as powerfully as any drug. Sherlock's eyelids grow heavy even as he watches Molly drowse, and not long after she drifts so does he.

He sleeps more soundly, actually lets his body rest more, while he's sharing a bed with her. Eight hours of sleep next to Molly does more to recharge him than the night he spent in his own bed before heading to Cardiff, or any of the time he'd had in what was objectively a pretty comfortable hotel room there.

When he wakes, from a very pleasant dream of watching a very capable Giselle variation and realizing that the dancer is Molly herself, they're in roughly the same sort of position he'd awakened to on Saturday: him on his back, her sprawled against his side and... well. Cuddling him.

He's still not sure how he feels about the word, but the actual thing is pretty nice.

Sherlock doesn't think he's ever seen Molly asleep. Exhausted and half-dozing during a case, maybe, but not fully unconscious. His half-awake mind, still tangled up in ballet and the intense emotions of the night before, summons up a soft strain of Tchaikovsky--one of the few fairy tales Sherlock knows.

Which is, he knows, sort of an absurd thought for one thirtysomething professional to be having about another, but that he can't quite bring himself to be embarrassed about.

[theonewhocounted]

This time when Molly awakens tangled up and cuddling Sherlock, she is not worried that he'll be annoyed with her or off-put by so much physical contact. In fact, when she realizes where she is, she holds on to him tighter and sighs. She can tell he's already awake because he's faintly humming Tchaikovsky's "Sleeping Beauty Waltz."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment," she murmurs without moving from her rather comfortable position on his chest. He might feel her lips quirk a little though.

[punchmeitssubtext]

He doesn't realize he was humming until her soft, rough voice interrupts him. Oddly, he's not really startled or embarrassed by having been caught being... sentimental.

"You're not wrong." His hand rises to comb through her soft, tangled hair in slow strokes.

Sory, just realized I totally god-modded the humming part. lol

[theonewhocounted]

Molly's smile widens and she lifts her head to look up at him, her eyes still only partly open. His hand in her hair makes her feel content like she's Toby when he's in her lap. She could almost purr.

It's amazing what some good sex can do. She feels refreshed and relaxed and safe here with him.

lol no worries, it was less godmoding and more intuiting :D

[punchmeitssubtext]

It will likely take modern neuroscience thirty to fifty years, he thinks, to either understand or replicate what happens to him when Molly smiles up at him. Even with so little real experience understanding human emotion, he can read certain things on her.

She's well-rested. She trusts him. She's happy, and not attempting to keep any secret worry from him. And she looks satisfied in a way he's never actually seen before--maybe to a lesser degree here and there in the past, but not this pleased.

(He knows, distantly, he must look sort of debauched himself. But he doesn't mind.)

"Good morning to you, too."

*am psychic* ;)

[theonewhocounted]

He does, in fact, also look pleased and debauched and well-rested and happy. Molly's actually never, ever seen him look that way. The look on his face almost makes him appear to be a totally different person (but in the exact opposite way of when he's on drugs and looks like a different person, in a much more healthy way). It pleases her immensely.

"Morning," she says, blinking slowly, still waking up. And a good morning it is. "Have you been awake long?"

Toby's not yet scratching at the door, so she knows it's not too late in the morning.

[punchmeitssubtext]

"Not long, no." That same pleasantly high feeling is back, stronger and more sustained. Maybe a more regular schedule wouldn't be such a bad thing, if this is the tradeoff--waking up renewed and buzzed with an armful of Molly.

A thought left over from the previous night bubbles up in this unguarded quiet between them.

"Based on last night I think a subscription's a solid plan."

[theonewhocounted]

"Oh good, I don't want to bore you with my sleeping," she jokes easily. Although, it's a valid concern with him - boredom.

At first she doesn't quite follow his jump in conversation - she's only just woke up after all. Her face is confused until what he's talking about registers.

"Oh! Yes. The ballet," she says after first thinking he meant a subscription to her or maybe condoms or, well, she wasn't sure. "That would be lovely. If you're sure you think you can stand me for 3 or 4 more performances."

She smiles. She's not serious really.

[punchmeitssubtext]

(If he knew what she was thinking, Sherlock might point out that having a detective on call who wants to fuck her senseless any given day of the week is sort of a condom subscription service in its way.)

He laughs softly, a rumble deep in his chest. "I'll manage." It's just as warm and affectionate as her own joke. "I could always get us a private box so we could shag at the interval."

[theonewhocounted]

"Sherlock!" she says, looking appalled but she's more amused. "You're turning into a horny school boy."

She's laughing though. Sherlock Holmes who looked uncomfortable around the word 'sex' until recently just suggested they shag at the ballet. She's created a monster.

[punchmeitssubtext]

"I'm playing catch-up, thanks so much--" His own laugh is louder now, deeper. "--but if you like, I can skip my plans to ask if you wanted me to give you oral sex before breakfast."

[theonewhocounted]

Molly is laughing more too and can feel his body shaking with the force of his own laughter.

"Lucky me," she says with a grin. "Except that I will not shag you at the ballet. Unless we have access to a private restroom with a door that locks. I do have standards."

She is grinning like a fool because this is fun. She hasn't had this much fun in ages it feels like. She crawls up his body a bit to kiss him, forgetting for the moment about morning breath.

"And if I ever turn down oral sex, call an ambulance. I'm probably dying."

[punchmeitssubtext]

He doesn't care much, himself, because he's having just as much fun with her--just learning about her, using their bodies to explore one another--as she is with him. Still, now that things have begun to turn in this direction he's happy to let her pull him back into what he usually finds the messy and somewhat intimidating world of his own desires.

"Duly noted," he murmurs into the corner of her mouth, dropping kisses along her jaw and flicking his tongue against her lips. "You haven't had it nearly enough, have you?"

[theonewhocounted]

She hums as he tastes her.

"I don't know if any woman has had nearly enough oral sex in their life," she says. "That's not true. I bet lesbians have a plentiful amount of it. Good oral sex too I imagine."

Women know what women want after all.